


Child of the Apocalypse

by DYLANFLOWER



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Emotions, Heavy Angst, Major Character Injury, Negan (Walking Dead) is an automatic warning, Pain, Torture, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-04-28 15:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14451783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DYLANFLOWER/pseuds/DYLANFLOWER
Summary: Basically, my take on what would've happened if Negan had made Rick go through with cutting Carl's arm off, and the consequences.





	1. The Clearing

**Author's Note:**

> I really think it was out of character for Negan to stop Rick cutting off Carl's arm. Why did Negan even care whether Carl had two arms or not? He's a monster and I'm fed up of Negan sympathisers, yo!  
> So have some hardcore gore followed by hardcore angst!

Michonne's POV -

I watched on as Rick bent over Carl, Negan kneeling next to him with a smug grin on his face. He looked excited. Like an ancient Roman emperor watching two slaves fight to the death for his own entertainment. Yeah… Exactly like that.  
Rick was wailing, that’s the only real way to describe it, looking everywhere but at Carl’s arm. His eyes moved so fast from person to tree to weapon to the sky to the floor that he was effectively not seeing anything at all. His eyes were just catatonically rolling in his head, trying to unsee his reality.  
“Okay, Rick. I am counting!” Negan announced, feigning annoyance but loving the dramatic and tense build up to the show he had constructed before us.  
Rick started to beg, while Negan watched him like somebody watching a puppy whine for food. Like it was sweet.  
“Three… Two!”  
Negan abruptly crouched down beside Rick and slapped his face. To be honest, I would probably have done the same because Rick was, understandably, totally hysteric. My own breaths, where I kneeled next to our family, were fast and ragged and definitely not sustainable. I didn’t want to look, wanted to grant Rick that privacy, but I had to know whether he would actually go through with it or not. I was acutely aware of the tip of the gun at the back of my head, level with my nose, as per Negan’s instructions. I had no doubt that Negan would order his men to shoot us. What I did doubt was Rick’s unstable understanding of our current reality.  
Negan grabbed Rick’s chin and forced his wild eyes to look into his own. “This is it.” He said with finality.  
Rick looked down at Carl, who had his eye squeezed shut. His legs were curled up toward him in a feeble attempt at protection, trying to hide when he was laying flat out in the spotlight at his own torture show. The psychological consequences would definitely be worse than the physical ones. We all knew that. Carl knew that. And yet he lay there, perfectly still, and in better composure than his Father. This is a child of the Apocalypse.  
Rick yelled, just a long moan of pain and fear and frustration. And then he picked up the axe, and braced Carl’s pale hand to the gravel. I wondered if Carl was feeling that sensation, the pain of sharp stones in his palm, and the warm, sweaty feeling of his Dad’s shaking fingers on his, for the last time. Hands that had held him, washed him, comforted him, hands that physically shaped Carl into who he is. Hands capable of swinging an axe through his arm.  
“Dad…” Carl spoke, hoarse, “Just do it.” He closed his eye and tensed. Even now, his main concern was the people around him, the pain of his Father. And probably, the need to get the anticipation over with. Pain, he could deal with. The waiting… That was something else. He opened his eye again, staring deeply into Rick’s, channelling his forgiveness and strength into him. Begging him to get it over with.  
Rick saw his willingness, and he bowed his head to pick up the axe, but Rick didn’t seem to be capable of making any certain movements. He was a shaking, wailing, scared little rabbit who had no strength to lift the axe.  
But he raised it. He raised it high above his head, because of course Rick could lift the axe. It was his weapon of choice. He had severed so many of the dead with that axe. Used it every day. But never on a living person. Never on his son, who lay flat on the ground with his eye tightly closed.  
Rick’s breaths grew shorter and faster, and the sounds coming out of his mouth made my stomach clench, and I saw Sasha, Maggie and Eugene look away. I looked on. I felt the bile in my throat and I watched, because if Rick and Carl were suffering, why should I get to look away? I didn’t even have to play an instrumental part in this, for which I thanked God. But this was happening. Right now.  
And Rick aligned the axe with the marker pen across Carl’s pale, thin arm. The disgust on his face as he deliberately chose the right angle to slice at was painful to see.  
And he swung it down. It happened in slow motion. He rammed his eyes shut as it fell, but opened them in a panic straight afterwards, determined to cut it right, the least painfully for Carl. But then a wave of fear, of failure and… Almost… Insanity, came over him. He started to pull back, to change his mind. As if he couldn’t go through with it at the very last millisecond.  
But it was too late by then, and the axe sliced through the marker on Carl’s skin, through his blood vessels and partway into the bone. And then it stopped. Rick’s decreased momentum meant it didn’t have the force to go clean through.  
Carl opened his eyes, expecting his arm to be gone, but found an axe embedded in his bone. The whites of his eyes shone in fear as his face contorted. A hiss escaped his lips, growing louder by the second.  
“Holy shit!” Negan shouted, “That backfired! What a time to fuck up, Rick. Wow.” Negan clicked his tongue.  
Rick stared down at the axe in confusion.  
“You’re gonna need to take that out and try again.” Negan said into Rick’s ear.  
Carl had his eye shut again and was whispering to himself too fast to tell what he was saying. Obviously meditating, or praying, or just looking for some kind of escape.  
“Rick!” I shouted, my voice icy with tension and pain.  
My voice snapped him out of it. He looked up at me. He looked back down at the axe, sticking out of Carl’s arm even though he had let go of the handle.  
“Don’t lose it. Just do it.” I commanded him. “Carl needs you to finish this.”  
Rick took one last sharp breath, and grabbed the handle, and ripped it out of Carl’s bone.  
Carl’s scream shattered my ears, but Rick was determined and was already swinging it down with more than enough force this time. The axe sailed straight through to the ground underneath Carl’s arm.  
It was done.  
Rick threw the axe in the direction of the caravan in disgust, and reached out to Carl. I saw Carl’s dead arm twitch one last time as blood trickled out of the severed veins.  
“It’s done, Carl. It’s done. It’s done.” Rick chanted, grabbing Carl’s shoulders and sitting him upright.  
Carl stared down at his arm in shock as blood spurted out in sync with his rapid heartbeat. A low whine seemed to be emerging from his closed mouth as he stared.  
“Carl?” Rick whispered, stroking his hair.  
Carl’s answering scream was so forceful he collapsed under his own weight, and he lay back, clutching his severed elbow and writhing on the ground.  
“Okay, Doc. You can come in now!” Negan sang happily.  
A very sweaty and greying man sprinted out from the crowd with a bag and a rucksack, and skidded to a stop next to Carl.  
“I need room.” He sharply told Rick, who was leaning over him and trying to soothe him.  
Rick nodded and stood up, before promptly collapsing as though his legs were made of jelly, and vomiting all over his lap.  
“Ew,” Negan noted as they both stared at the sick, “Can someone… I dunno, comfort this sad fucker or somethin’?” Negan directed towards us, still kneeling with guns to our backs.  
I sprinted over to Rick, grabbed his hand and looked into his eyes. Carl was sobbing behind us, his legs flailing madly, but there was nothing I could do for him just yet.  
“Rick. You did good. You did the right thing. Thank you.” I said to him slowly, simply, trying to get through to him. He nodded at me in return but his eyes were far away.  
I pulled him in for a hug and he let me hold him, limp. As Carl’s screams continued behind me, I scrunched Rick’s curls between my fingers. I probably pulled too hard but Rick didn’t react at all. I just inhaled the smell of him, the essence of him, and gathered as much strength as I could muster. The smell of the vomit rose to meet me and made my own gut clench.  
“I’ve wrapped the wound up in clean material and its got enough pressure on it to keep him going. We need to get to the infirmary.” The Doctor said.  
“Alrighty then. Dwight, please can you help Doc load Carl into the van.”  
I stood up immediately. “Let me help. I’m coming too.”  
“Ohhh no you’re not.” Negan chuckled, “I can’t have you wandering around the sanctuary, now can I?”  
“But Carl-”  
“-Is in safe hands.” Negan interrupted. “I’ll drop him off next week when I come to pick up my half.”  
I began to protest, but Negan turned his glare on me, and I realised that the consequences of not respecting Negan’s orders were very much real right now. I shut my mouth, even though tears leaked out the corners of my eyes.  
“Get to it, boys!” Negan shouted, “We don’t want the kid dyin’ on the way back, now do we?!” Rick sobbed again, just once, as he sat on the ground with sick round his mouth. I'd never seen him more broken... But then, that was Negan's aim.  
Carl had passed out by now, and his limp body was shoved into the truck. His head lolled, and his pale face, with deep purple rings under his eyes, turned towards me. The Doctor climbed in next to him and the doors slammed shut.  
Within seconds the saviours, and Carl, had all left the clearing.  
Which left me, a vomit-soaked and catatonic Rick, two bodies, Rosita, Daryl, Eugene and Maggie.  
The world fell silent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The immediate aftermath.

Michonne POV – 

Maggie was the first to react. She unsteadily put her feet beneath her and seemed to force her shaking body to stand against its will. She stood awkwardly, hunched over and trying as far as possibly not to stand on her own weight.  
“Maggie…” Sasha said, uncertain and concerned.  
“I need to get him. I need to get him home.” Maggie muttered, numb but determined.  
“Maggie, wait, you shouldn’t be walking around. We’ll help you.”  
“Yeah,” Daryl cut in, “Just hold up a sec.” Daryl leaped to his own feet and went to grip Maggie’s shoulders.  
“I’m okay, thank you. I just need to go to him.” Maggie muttered, weakly shaking Daryl off.  
“We need to get you to the Hilltop.” Daryl spoke earnestly, his forehead creased with concern and his hands hovering near Maggie, as though unsure what to do with them.  
“No. We need to get ready. I just need to get to him first.”  
“Ready? Ready for what, Maggie?” Sasha asked, concerned.  
“To fight them.” Maggie whimpered, reaching Glen’s body and collapsing beside him.  
“We… We can’t.” Daryl spoke first, ashamed.  
“Maggie…” Sasha looked to me.  
“They have Carl, Maggie. We- We can’t fight them. They’ll kill Carl. Or worse.” I spoke softly, trying to get through to her.  
“Well he’s already in danger so we might as well try.” Maggie stuttered, shaking her head as she caressed Glen’s back.  
I pushed back thoughts of what Carl might be going through right now, and what was still to come. I couldn’t yet deal with that, couldn’t contemplate it.  
I turned to Rick, deciding to let Sasha and Daryl deal with Maggie and the disfigured remains of her husband.  
Rick sat, kneeling in the dirt where he had fallen. There was vomit around his mouth and in his lap, and his hands were shaking so hard they were visibly vibrating. His eyes were clenched shut.  
It made me anxious, not being able to look into those emotive, icy blue eyes of his.  
“Rick?” I called, touching his shoulder as I stood next to him. His eyes startled open and he shrank back from me automatically, but when he saw it was me he immediately closed his eyes again, his hands forming fists.  
I massaged my pounding temple with my hands, and pushed my own emotions back. Just deal with the immediate aftermath, deal with what you can actually help with, I thought to myself.  
I looked over to see Maggie hunched over Glen’s body, sobbing quietly but sharply, with Daryl and Sasha standing beside her. Rosita sat staring at Abraham’s body. I stood and walked to the caravan to find something to mop up Rick’s vomit.  
Inside I found quite a lot of blood, what looked like walker blood, smeared on the carpet. There was also a huge cut in the table where Rick’s axe must have been slammed into it. I shook my head, unable to even think yet about what Negan had done to Rick in their brief disappearance. From what I could see, walkers had been involved. But how, I couldn’t bear to think. I was angry with myself because I was not being strong. I was not dealing with this in the best way, the way Rick would’ve if he’d been… Present. But the thought of dealing with any of that made me feel physically faint.  
I walked to the bed section and ripped a pillowcase off the only remaining pillow in the van, the one Maggie had rested on on the way here. It wasn’t very clean, but Rick didn’t have any open cuts that could become infected.  
I hopped back down the stairs to see Rick still kneeling where I left him. As I got closer I could hear him murmuring something to himself, much like Carl had done.  
“Rick? I’m gonna clean you up.” I told him, calmly. Better to be straightforward and not express any emotions.  
Rick stopped murmuring and opened his eyes. “Clean me up?” He asked blankly, his eyes unfocussed.  
“You threw up on yourself.” I explained.  
Rick slowly looked down as if the action required immeasurable effort, and made a small noise of acknowledgement when he saw that he was, in fact, sitting in his own vomit.  
I took that as permission, and knelt down in front of him. I gently held his chin and lifted his head to face me, and began to wipe the sick from around his mouth. That gorgeous mouth that had kissed me and loved me for so long now, one which shook with fear as I cleaned it.  
“It’s okay.” I assured him. It was a meaningless platitude – nothing was okay. Rick just stared at me and swallowed hard. I moved down to wipe at his trousers, and his legs twitched as if he regained awareness of them.  
“S-sorry.” Rick muttered suddenly, and began to straighten his legs out beneath him, his heels scratching through the gravel.  
“Here, stand up, baby.” I helped him to stand, and then wiped down his shaking legs for him.  
“C-Carl?” He whispered, like a lost child asking for his Father. I looked up and his stormy eyes instantly latched onto me with an accusatory and begging stare. As if asking me, begging me, telling me to explain that what had just happened had resulted from a psychotic break, or a dream.  
I looked away, unable to hold his stare, unable to look into those begging eyes. I turned my head to look at Carl’s severed arm, and saw, from the corner of my eye, Rick following my gaze.  
It was turning blue with lack of blood, and his fingers had curled inwards like a newborn’s does while sleeping. It was surreal, seeing those bony fingers I knew so well, even the mole on his wrist, lying there, unattached. As his body travelled further and further from it, here it lay. I felt nauseous myself, but swallowed it down.  
I looked back at Rick, who was staring at the arm with his eyebrows drawn almost painfully close to his eyes. He was muttering again. I watched his lips and saw that he was repeating “I’m sorry, Carl” over and over again.  
“Rick,” I held his strong jawline and forced him to look back at me, “It is not your fault, Rick. I told you, you did the right thing, and we all respect what you did. What you had to do.” I stroked his cheek and tried to channel strength into his eyes.  
He dropped his head and crossed his arms in a defensive manner.  
“W-where’s… Maggie…” He trailed off as he spotted her, still kneeling by Glen’s side. He gripped his hair in his hands as he watched her, looking utterly broken.  
He watched them for a few minutes, and I was unsure whether to interrupt his thoughts or not.  
“I- I’m just… I can’t… I should go now.” Rick said shakily, looking around for somewhere to go.  
“Go where?” I asked as he started to step away, “Rick?” I called.  
“I- I- I can’t lead you. Anymore. I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t’ve… Ah.” Rick walked towards the treeline.  
“Rick!” I grabbed his hand and pulled him to face me, “What do you mean you’re going? Going where?”  
Rick just stared at the ground with his eyebrows drawn close, shaking his head.  
Daryl had looked over upon seeing Rick walking away, and he walked over to us.  
“Rick?” He asked uncertainly.  
Rick turned red with shame, and turned away from Daryl.  
“I’m just… Gonna go now,” He said again, “I’m – I’m sorry about Merle. And about Sophia and Beth and the prison. I’m sorry.”  
Where had that come from? As though he wanted to make things as good as he could with Daryl, as if he planned on never seeing him again.  
“Rick… Man, you… You don’t need to be sorry.” Daryl said uncertainly, his hands hanging limply at his sides, “Don’t leave. We still need you. We do. We need you.” Daryl said, his own voice shaking slightly. It was only then I realised he still had a bleeding bullet wound in his shoulder.  
“Daryl!” I exclaimed, “Rick, we need to go back to the Hilltop with Maggie and Daryl. We don’t have time for this.” I pulled his hand and began to jog towards the caravan.  
“STOP!” Rick shouted, snapping his arm back to his side in such a furious way that it actually hurt me.  
“Rick?” I said, quietly, letting him know with my eyes that he had hurt me.  
“You don’t understand. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I was not the walking dead. All this time I thought I was a dead man walking, but there was so much to live for then. I was so naïve. Michonne, I am dead. I’m dead now.” He shook his head, looking at me intensely, “I just need to finish the job.”  
Finish the job?  
“Rick?!” Daryl butted in, angry.  
“I should’ve done it earlier. Should’ve died in the hospital. I only brought pain, and I thought that by choosing to live I was being strong. But it’s just selfish. ‘Conscience doth make cowards of us all’.” He whispered the quote at the end, staring at the gravel.  
“Hamlet?” I asked as I stepped closer to Rick again. He immediately stepped back.  
“Not to be.” He said, sounding rational and calm for the first time since Maggie had fallen ill.  
I looked at Daryl in alarm and fear, and we seemed to understand eachother in that brief glance. Daryl swung with his uninjured arm and punched Rick in the head, and I caught his limp body as he fell, unconscious.  
I was reminded of the last time Rick had lost it, and I’d had to knock him out in front of all the Alexandrians, because he’d been was convinced they would all die without him, telling them they were weak. How things have changed, I thought sadly as Daryl grabbed his feet.  
Together we loaded him into the caravan, then went back for Glen and Abraham’s bodies.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl wakes up in the Sanctuary.

Carl POV – 

I was aware of someone talking above my head, of a conversation happening outside of my conscious understanding. I spent a few minutes hovering in this numb and fuzzy, cotton-wool stuffed state before I became aware of a cold surface under me. I guessed I was lying down on some kind of metal thing, based on what I could sense.  
And then, out of nowhere, agony hit me. I could feel every nerve pulsating in my left elbow. Almost as though the skin, bone, tissue and veins each felt their own kind of agony and made it known to me. The sharp, aching, stabbing, dull and acute pain spread up my arm, across my shoulder blades and lodged in my throat, some of it even radiating down to make my ribs hurt when I breathed.  
My eyes shot open, instantly aware of the world after that horrid wake-up call. I wished I could go back to the cotton-wool world.  
An orangey, quiet light from directly above me lit the room, a dome-shaped lampshade. At least that meant I was in ‘civilisation’ – they weren’t dependent on candles. Maybe they’d have some painkillers too.  
I forced my stiff neck to the left, inhaling as even that made the pain stutter in my ribs. My eyes fell, firstly, on some hospital-style curtains and sterile equipment, and then immediately locked on to Negan, who was grinning at me. I realised he’d been saying my name over and over since I opened my eyes, but my brain hadn’t been able to process that information until now.  
“Yes?” I answered as quickly as possible, for fear the leader would think I was ignoring him. In my haste, no sound came out. I coughed to clear my throat, and in doing so jogged my arm ever-so-slightly, and cringed in pain.  
“That bad, huh?” Negan asked, totally unsympathetic.  
I nodded, breathing slowly. “Any painkillers?” I asked quietly.  
“You’re already on all of ‘em, kid.” Negan chuckled, “Jeez, I thought you were a hard-nut. Where are those balls of steel?”  
“Er-” Someone to the right of me tried to interject without interrupting Negan, “yes, we’ve given you what we can intravenously, but you can take some more now you’re awake.” I shifted my head to look at who was speaking, and saw an aged and tense man in a white lab coat. A doctor.  
I sighed in relief both at his words and just his presence – a doctor was another sign of safety.  
“Yes, please.” I asked the doctor.  
“Right, can you sit up?” He asked, concerned and looking for a way to help.  
I went to lift myself up onto my elbows before I remembered the pain radiating from my left arm. I looked down and saw a stump, wrapped in white linen and bandages. Something twinged inside me at the sight, but I swallowed it down and set about leaning on my right elbow instead.  
“Maybe we should move you to a proper bed?” The Doctor suggested, looking to Negan uncertainly.  
“Hmmm...” Negan deliberated, leaning back and in doing so, thrusting his hips forward, “Okay, for now.” He concluded, looking proud of himself for the kindness, as if he expected praise.  
“Thank you, sir.” The Doctor provided. Negan’s dark eyes flicked down to me and I nodded my thanks.  
“You need help gettin’ him there?” Negan turned back to the Doctor.  
“You can walk, right, kid?” The Doctor asked me.  
I clenched my toes and wiggled my feet, and ascertained that they were in working order (thank God – I did not need Negan to carry me to a fucking bed).  
“Yes.” I reached my right arm towards the Doctor, and he grabbed my hand and my back, pulling me upright.  
The world immediately shifted on its axis, and I felt all the blood rush out of my head and pool in my arm, making it throb ten times worse. A wave of nausea passed over me to make matters worse, but I bit down on any urge to pass out, vomit or collapse. I waited until the ceiling light was firmly back above my head, and then shuffled to the edge of the metal thing. The Doctor guided me to the floor.  
“Okay?” He asked when I placed my weight on my feet. I tested out my balance and felt surprisingly okay, and stepped away from the Doctor’s support. My forehead was creased from the pulsing pain in my arm, but I looked up to see Negan watching me.  
“Right this way, kiddo.” He gestured dramatically, and began to lead the way to the bed.  
The Doctor hovered by my side to be certain as Negan swaggered past the hospital curtain. In a rush of self-awareness, I looked down and was relieved to see my jeans were still on, if a little bloodied. So were my shoes. They’d obviously had to remove my top though, but that was okay.  
Just outside my ‘room’ made of curtains was a miniature hospital ward, but with real beds instead of those cool ones that you can adjust.  
I briefly remembered pushing the buttons to lift Dad up and down on his bed while he slept after the gunshot, and Mum telling me off because he was “in a coma”. I didn’t know what that was then, but I thought Dad might’ve enjoyed the ride.  
“Where’s my Dad?” Rushed past my lips with the memory before I could think it through.  
“Well, he’s not here. But your bed… Is!” He paused for effect before dramatically pointing towards a random clean bed. There were no other patients so I didn’t know why he chose that one in particular.  
I looked at it suspiciously.  
“Get in the goddamn bed, kid. You look like you’re gonna pass out.” Negan chuckled as he said it. As if to show he wasn’t telling me to sit down because he was worried about me, but as if the state of me was embarrassing.  
I walked the rest of the way over and sank into the sheets. It was a comfy bed, to be honest. And it smelled clean. It made me think of Carol.  
I looked back up at Negan as the Doctor began to shuffle things around me, preparing whatever was needed.  
“Yeah, but where is my Dad, if he’s not here?”  
“Have a little trust, kid. I’ve got you as hostage, I don’t need your Dad too. Besides, I think he got the message.” His nose crinkled in a mix of disgust and amusement, “Can’t believe he threw up on himself, the silly sausage.” He boomed.  
“So he’s in Alexandria?” I clarified, ignoring the comment about him vomiting.  
“Yep, he’s collecting all my shit for me.” Negan said, pleased.  
I exhaled. At least it was only me who was really in danger. I just hoped he wouldn’t come after me. That would only make things worse, and Negan seemed to be keeping his promise in terms of healing me up.  
At that point the Doctor shoved some pills into my hand, followed by a cup of water. I took them without question, the pain still very much a prominent feature of my present awareness. Plus, I trusted him. He was scared of Negan, and that was enough for me.  
“Well, thanks for waking up just when I came to visit, sweetheart, but I actually have more important things to do than hang around with sickly invalids.” Negan announced, patting me on the thigh overly harshly.  
He then turned on his heel and left without another word.  
I looked to the Doctor.  
“May as well make yourself comfortable, kid.” He said, beginning to pull the covers back for me before hesitating, “You want a change of clothes?”  
I looked back, saw no one else around (and no Negan) before nodding. Might as well get comfortable, as he said.  
He nodded and left, apparently to get some clean clothes. I looked around at my surroundings. More hospital curtains surrounded me on all sides, except a plain, dirty wall. Looked like an old factory. I had a bedside table with my glass of water on it, and a thermometer. Basically, very boring surroundings to be spending all my time alone, healing.  
I looked down at my arm again, lifting it slowly through gritted teeth, and inspected the bandages. Some blood was already leaking through what was clearly a very thick swaddle of cloth. I tried to wiggle my fingers, to see what would happen. As if I expected my fingers to magically reappear. I felt the tendons move inside my injured arm and cried out in pain. They burned with the movement, the muscles apparently trying to move fingers that were no longer there.  
“You alright?” The Doctor reappeared with clothes on his arm, looking down at me.  
“Yeah.” I said through another wave of nausea.  
“Do you remember what happened… Carl, is it?” He asked.  
“Yeah. Negan made my… My arm got chopped off.” I said bluntly, not wanting to voice aloud that my Dad had done it. I looked up at him, wondering if he knew what had actually happened. The sympathy and awkwardness in his eyes suggested he did. I bet Negan had been shouting about what had happened all around the Sanctuary.  
“How long was I out?” I asked him.  
“Only around 8 hours. Just long enough for me to stitch you up, thankfully. We don’t have any anaesthetic.”  
“Is it… Bad?”  
“Um…” He coughed awkwardly, “I mean, your Dad did a pretty good job. The bone’s not too sharp.” He reasoned.  
“How long will it take to heal?”  
“I honestly have no idea, kid. I wasn’t in the army; I’ve never dealt with amputations.”  
I flinched slightly at the term… Amputee. I was now, officially (in a way I hadn’t been after my eye got shot out), a cripple. At the memory, I reached up with my good arm, and felt that the bandage had been removed. I quickly pushed my hair over the wound.  
“Where’s my bandage?” I asked defensively.  
“Negan thought your eye looked… Cool. He wants it uncovered.” The Doctor looked at the floor.  
I flushed at the idea that Negan had been staring at the ugly hole in my face. What else had he done while I was unconscious?  
“We should probably change your other bandage though, while you’re awake. And before we put clean clothes on.” The Doctor suggested.  
“That’s gonna hurt, right?”  
“Yeah. But the painkillers should work soon.”  
I groaned, offering up my arm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So this ended up being one really long chapter and then an extra little chapter afterwards... *shrug*  
> Rick wakes up.

Rick POV ---

 

When I woke, I was aware instantly of the previous events and the present situation, as though it’d been waiting impatiently in the periphery of my consciousness. As though Carl’s consciousness, and his urgency to get out and away from Negan, was fused with my own.  
I snapped my eyes open, squinting as they adjusted to the fact I’d just woken up (even though my brain was already well-accustomed to the waking world). I blinked irritably, trying to make sense of where I was and how to proceed next.  
“Rick!” Michonne’s rough but feminine hand stroked my cheek as her voice came to me. “How are you feeling?” She asked softly.  
“Fine. Would be better if you hadn’t knocked me out.” I quipped, only half joking. I looked over to see her frown.  
“I’m sorry, Rick, but you had a full on breakdown back there.”  
I grunted in response, sitting up and looking around. I was clearly at Hilltop, inside the mansion somewhere. Why would they take me here? I’d been knocked out plenty of times before…  
It was then that I remembered the mission to get Maggie to Hilltop, and shame filled me at my selfishness.  
“Where’s Maggie?!” I asked Michonne urgently as I attempted to get to my feet.  
“She’s –” Michonne grabbed my arm as I teetered on my feet, dizzy from the change in position, “Rick! Sit down.” She ordered. “Maggie is in the room next door. She’s fine. The doctor thinks it was a complication with the placenta that managed to sort itself out. Thank God.” She muttered.  
“So she’s fine? And the baby’s fine?” I clarified.  
“Yes.” Michonne confirmed, imploring me to rest with her gaze. As if I could rest while Carl was… I flinched away from the thought.  
“So what are we gonna do?” I asked her. I assumed they must’ve had a discussion in my absence and made a plan. It was clear I wasn’t a suitable leader (as I’d tried to tell them before I was knocked out).  
“We’re having a meeting as soon as you’re able.” Michonne said calmly, pushing on my chest so I would lie down.  
I pushed against the force and stood again, this time able to stand. My clothes were still all on, and I could feel the pull of stitches at my temple. Good to go.  
“Why did you wait?!” I demanded, striding towards the door.  
“Rick! You have a concussion! Slow down!” Michonne pestered me from the door. Why she still gave a shit about me, after Glenn and Abraham had died because of me, and Carl…  
“Where is everyone? Why haven’t you made a plan yet?”  
“They’re in the front room. We couldn’t exactly make a plan without you.” Michonne said as if it were obvious.  
“Why not? I told you, I can’t be your leader any more.” I said to her over my shoulder.  
“What?” Michonne asked quietly behind me as I flung the door open.  
Daryl, Rosita, Eugene and Aaron were gathered in the front room, discussing quietly.  
“Hey.” Daryl greeted me. I noticed his shirt had been cut on the left shoulder, where a bandage wrapped over the bare skin. Had Daryl been injured too?  
“What’s that?” I gestured to his shoulder, not wanting to scare him off with any actual kindness.  
“They shot me. Before the clearing.” He grumbled.  
Fuck. I’d not even noticed. He’d had a gunshot wound that whole time in the clearing, and I’d been the one quivering on the floor. Pushing down the shame, I squared my shoulders and turned toward everyone, including Michonne who had shuffled in behind me.  
“Okay, meeting. Is Maggie awake?”  
“Yeah, she’s just resting. But she’d want in on the meeting.”  
“Let’s go to her, then.” I declared, feigning my usual confidence, and followed Michonne to the room next door to mine.  
“Rick!” She exclaimed when I pushed through the door. As if it was a relief to see me. As if it wasn’t my fault her husband, and the father of her unborn child, was dead.  
I cleared my throat uncomfortably, “We thought you’d want to take part in the meeting.” I said, not meeting her eyes.  
“Yeah of course.” Maggie sat up in bed, determined but so tired, and beneath the shield she put up, there was a storm of devastation waiting to be dealt with.  
“Okay. So what do y’all think we should do?” I asked, looking around the room.  
“We thought you’d have a plan.” Daryl replied for them.  
Okay, the message was not getting across. It was like learned helplessness, like Stockholm syndrome, like they’d forgotten they deserved a better leader than me.  
“Okay then, first on the agenda… You need to pick a new leader.” I said.  
They stared blankly at me, then at eachother, then back to me.  
“Why?” Eugene asked.  
“Well I think it’s obvious that I can’t lead you anymore. I wanna help get everything back to being… As safe as it can be. But then I’m still gonna have to leave.”  
“Leave?” Daryl echoed, looking… almost scared.  
“Rick if you’re leaving, we’re following.” Michonne spoke next to me.  
I tensed in frustration, crushing down my anger and clearing my throat again.  
“You need a better leader. Since you’ve followed me, I’ve been the cause of countless deaths… Hershel, Beth, Deanna, Jessie…” My voice faded out as it shook, “We lost the prison, we were lucky to have been found by Aaron but… Alexandria was nothing to do with me. Its downfall was. Its my fault we’re dealing with Negan now. So I can’t do it anymore.”  
“How is any of that your fault, Rick?” Michonne asked imploringly, resting her hand on my arm. I shifted away from the touch.  
“At this point it isn’t coincidence. But it doesn’t matter what you might think you want – I won’t lead you anymore.” I said with finality.   
“Rick… None of that is-” I cut her off by raising my hand, “I cannot do it anymore. I can’t. I can’t lead you anymore.” My voice shook more as I went on.  
Get a grip, dammit. The least you can do is be composed for them.  
Michonne looked at me, confused and concerned. She must have seen that this was not up for discussion without another meltdown, so she changed the topic.  
“Okay. We’ll deal with that later. For now… We need to get Carl back, and we need to get Negan.”  
“We need to kill Negan.” Maggie whispered with quiet ferocity.  
I did not think that was a good idea. Negan had proved just how ahead of us he was, and our best option was to lie low and deal with his terms until a better time came. We’d been kicked to our knees, and now… I didn’t have the strength or the will to stand just yet. But I didn’t voice this aloud, because I was not their leader any more.  
Everyone looked to me, but when I stayed silent they began to think themselves.  
“We don’t even know where he is.” Daryl grumbled.  
“We must be able to find it, we must be able to!” Maggie said with urgency, lifting off the bed with her anger.  
“I think… We’ll have to just wait and see what happens when he returns.” Michonne said lowly. I remained silent.  
“Just wait? But what about Carl?” Maggie demanded, looking to me in desperation. Everyone else looked to me too.  
“Ne-“ I cleared my throat, “Negan said he would treat Carl and bring him back next week.”  
“And you believe him?! After what he did?!” Maggie’s cheeks were flushed with fury now. She had obviously decided that killing Negan was the best way to mourn Glenn.  
“He has to come back for his ‘half’ anyway.” I said distastefully, “Otherwise there’s nothing in it for him.”  
“So you’re saying we just wait?” Maggie demanded.  
“I’m not saying anything, Maggie. If you wanna lead, please do. I’m not your leader.”  
“Alright,” Michonne interrupted, “For now, let’s postpone this until we’re all a bit more composed. There’s no huge rush – we know that Negan is taking care of Carl.”  
“You’d think,” Maggie hissed, “That after what you did to your own son, that at the very least you’d step up to the plate and get him out of there.”  
Normally, I would’ve seen red. In its place, my legs went weak, and the urge to hide my face and sob was overwhelming.  
“I’m sorry.” I whispered, then left the room. I could feel Michonne following me.  
“Michonne, I don’t want to do this right now.” She shut the door behind them, and pushed him towards his room.  
“Michonne-”  
“ - Why is it your fault?” She demanded, eyes blazing.  
“How is it not my fault? I fucking cut his arm off!” I shouted back at her, tears leaking from the very edges of my eyes now.  
“You had to! You saved everyone’s life by doing that! We all supported you!”  
“Oh, how brave of me, to torture my own son.” I hissed sarcastically.  
“Rick, we were in a horrible situation, one no one should have to be in!”  
“We wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place if it weren’t for me.”  
“Rick… Negan would’ve come for us either way. He’s sick. He needs to be taken down.”  
“Well I can’t do it. I can’t be responsible for anyone any more. I can’t even look after myself.” I said, tasting disgust on my tongue.  
“Rick, you have saved this whole group. The whole of Alexandria is alive because of you.”  
“You don’t get it, do you? Every good thing that has happened, ever, was fate. Every bad thing was me. Take Carl, for example. The most important person to me on this planet, the one I should be able to protect above all others. Before this all started, his Dad was in a coma. Then he thought his Dad was dead. Then he got shot. Then he spent years living in a prison… A fucking prison, Michonne. No wonder he shot that innocent kid, which he still hates himself for now, even though it was not his fault that he had a fucked up role model. Then he had to rescue me from the Governor, take me to a safe house. Then he… He almost got raped, Michonne. He was just a boy. And then his eye got shot out… And now… Now he is a fucking amputee, and its all because of me!” I got louder and louder as I went, and by the end I was panting with exertion and my voice echoed round the room we were in.  
The others could probably hear but I was too angry and ashamed to care.  
“So why would you want me to lead you? Huh?” I pressed, getting up close to her and exerting my dominance.  
“Rick… You know that wasn’t your fault. None of it.” Michonne closed her eyes, looking… desperately sad.  
“Yeah? What about all the people that have died under my ‘leadership’? What about them? They didn’t deserve better?”  
“Rick… This is the fucking APOCALYPSE.” Michonne snapped and screamed back at me, “and frankly it’s arrogant of you to take all the blame!”  
“Ohh I’m arrogant now, am I?” I retorted. Abruptly, the anger left me. I stepped back, lowered my gaze to the floor. “So why do you want me around? Just let me go, Michonne.”  
Michonne didn’t say anything, so I quickly slipped out the door, and I didn’t look back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mini-chapter. Just Rick having a breakdown I guess.

Rick POV---

 

I slid down against the metal grating at my back, sandwiched between two rickety buildings as far from the mansion as I could get. Trying to disappear.  
My shoulders shook, even as I held in the sobs.  
To think what Carl was going through right now… He’d likely lost an insane amount of blood, maybe even more than when he got shot by Otis. Not to mention the pain.  
The ache to be near him, to comfort him, was physically painful, and he hunched his shoulders towards his chest as a whine leaked out between his lips.  
Lori would be… Lori would never have spoken to him again. Her baby boy… Our baby boy. I can see him now, in my mind, picking him up from school. A big grin on his face when I tell him we’re having pizza for dinner. Asking him about his day, about his spelling test…   
Flash to now – I’m sat here, crying, hiding between two buildings in the middle of fucking nowhere. Not near Carl. Carl, my boy, who was all alone in enemy territory, being ‘cared for’ by the man who had killed his family and ordered me to cut off his arm.  
Bile rose in my throat at the thought. I hadn’t believed it had actually happened at first… Surely I wasn’t physically capable of torturing my own son like that. But the screams, the convulsions and the blood, and the cold, twitching fingers lying in his wake… They were real.  
I rose onto my haunches and threw up again, as quietly as possible. I squeezed my eyes shut in agony and felt tears leak out against my efforts, heard my breath shudder into my lungs. Pathetic.  
And yet… There was no way of getting to Carl without making the situation worse. I would simply have to wait. To leave Carl’s life in Negan’s hands and sit on my arse and wait for my boy to be delivered back to me. As if he’d want to see me ever again.  
The look in his eyes as I held the axe above him, shuddering and whining pathetically… That boy was so strong. So brave. So forgiving… How I had raised someone like him was… Well. It was the apocalypse that raised that kid; I had nothing to do with it. If I’d raised him right, none of that would’ve happened.  
I wiped my mouth and pulled at my hair, desperately trying to hold in sobs.  
A father’s job is to protect his son.  
“Rick?”  
Shit. I stood up and turned to face Michonne as quickly as I could, trying to look casual. Hoping she wouldn’t notice the vomit and tears on my face. Or the agony leaking out of me.  
“Rick.” Her face crumbled, and she ran towards me with open arms. Obviously I was not being subtle.  
This time, I gave in. I let her comfort me. I hugged her tightly, felt her shuddering against me too, and we both just cried, for Carl, for Glenn, for this new world.  
“Rick,” Michonne eventually drew back, “I know how hard this is for you right now. But please… Please come back to us.”  
“I’m here.” I replied blankly, voice thick.  
“Please be the old Rick. Be our leader. You know, you know you did what you could, that you try your damned best for us. I know you’re hurting, but please don’t let this change you. Don’t let Negan change our group.” Michonne almost begged me, gripping my hands between hers.  
And with some of the burden having been shed in the form of tears, I did feel a little lighter. And I did see the road ahead of us. And I did see myself as the leader. If my people wanted me, I was damned sure gonna be there for them.  
I nodded my head, and my lips tried to twitch into a smile.  
Michonne sighed in relief, and hugged me tightly to her chest again.  
“So we wait?” She asked softly.  
“We wait.” I confirmed, my voice dark with regret.  
Michonne’s arms stroked my back, and I knew she understood everything. She knew my desperation, my shame, my anger at myself. She also knew my motives, knew, even when I didn’t, that I had tried my best. That I always do. And that I was the leader of this group.  
And I’d get Carl back if it killed me. It just so happened that waiting (the worst option of them all) was the best way.  
And in a way the knowledge that passing my days here, gathering supplies and getting back to Alexandria ready for Negan to return with Carl when it suited him… The knowledge that that hurt more than trying to rescue him would… Made it seem okay.  
Because I sure as hell would be suffering too.


End file.
